Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission

by M. J. Lawless

  “Oh God, oh fucking God,” she said in a low voice. “It’s only been a few days and already I’d forgotten how big it is!”

  He placed his hands on her head, gently at first, while she drew out his erection and touched it to her lips, flicking her tongue along and underneath the veined shaft, making it wet with her spittle. All the time she was watching his face as she moved back and forth then, parting her lips as wide as they would go, she took the smooth head into her mouth. She bobbed back and forth a few times, then pushed herself down on him deeper, forcing herself to gag a little as she tried to deepthroat him.

  His own grip tightened on her hair, and he—realising what she wanted—held her in place as he began to dominate her mouth. She had done this before so often in their short time together, and it was a first act of submission by her. Whatever else happened outside this room, now she was giving him mastery of her body.

  Her back arched and she lifted her torso up from her knees, allowing him easier entry into her throat. His grip was iron, and while one hand formed a semicircle around his shaft, masturbating him into her mouth, her other passed through the front of her dress, parting the fabric further and sliding into the soft fabric of her underwear which was already moistening as her labia parted.

  Rubbing her clit more furiously, she allowed him to hold her head still as he pushed into her, withdrawing and then forcing himself in deeper. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in gasps and choking sobs when he withdrew, and thin strands of saliva, glistening like jewels, hung from her lips to the tip of his cock, so huge and magnificent.

  Had anyone been on a level with the apartment, they would have seen a large, well-built man stripping his jacket and shirt from his torso, virtually ripping off his clothes while a smaller, dark-haired woman bobbed up and down at his waist, her mouth pleasuring him as fully as it was able. After a few more moments of this, they would have seen him crouch down, pushing her dress from her shoulders, burying his face in her breasts as she furiously drew her hand along his length, rejoicing in its weight and length. Then, not even bothering to remove his trousers but simply pushing them further down his firm thighs, the view would have been of him lowering her to the floor—she parting slender thighs, her high heels rising up above his trousers as she folded her legs across his back. The look upon her face as he penetrated her would had shown them, if they could not guess, that her desperation for him was such that when her orgasm began almost immediately, it was a long and powerful surrender to pleasure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Daniel was still asleep when she woke up. The bed sheets were scrawled with the signatures of their bodies, and as she stared down at his lean, muscular body, one arm outstretched to where her own form had been lying only moments before, she wanted more than anything to climb back in beside him—unfortunately, as he would have put it, sometimes necessity got in the way of desire.

  Compared to their earlier encounters, their lovemaking had been almost conventional, his large body pressing down on her as he fucked her in that bed, or she on her hands and knees with him entering her from behind. Her vagina could still remember him, was, indeed a little tender, and the passion with which he had filled her, used her, had exhausted her. She trembled as she made her way into the bathroom, her body still stretched from their long assault of each other.

  She gave a low whistle as she looked around her. The wet room itself was larger than her bedroom, covered with pale yellow Travertine and with a stark but beautiful chrome shower at one end, a white bath at the other and a beautiful marble basin and porcelain loo. It was better than any hotel she had ever stayed in—certainly a contrast to the primitive facilities at Comrie—and for a little while she played with the soaps and gels in a mirrored panel above the basin, smelling the delicious scents before deciding on the one she would use to clean herself.

  Her eyes were closed, her body enjoying the sensation of the steam and hot water flooding over her, and so she did not see him enter the room, did not hear him above the powerful hiss of spray. Yet when he moved into the shower, she felt his presence and, her long hair plastered against her neck and shoulders, her hands raised to her breasts which she had soaped up, she pushed herself gently against him.

  Kissing her, his smooth jaw pressing to the nape of her neck, his lips moving up to the hairline as he pushed it away with the fingers of one hand, he moved the other down around her front. He was bending slightly, his head fully above hers and she did not open her eyes, enjoying the sensations of his hand moving across the suds on her nipples as they were washed away, squeezing them, cupping her soft breasts as he let himself slot into the curves of her body.

  Now, without shoes, completely naked, she was so small next to him. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed any longer but looked up at him, turning and lifting her arms to place them around his neck, looking into his eyes as her lips moved on his, her tongue sliding into him. The weight of his cock was heavy as it began to rise against her belly, and the sensation of its length, the hardness of his body against the sweetness of hers, made her begin to open up once more.

  Letting her hand fall, her slender fingers took hold of that heavy weight and began to masturbate him, enjoying the water flooding through her grip, his balls hanging down as she caressed him. He in turn pulled her in closer, moved his strong fingers down her back, massaging her spine and slipping between her buttocks, down to the perineum, still tender from their previous force. She gasped as one digit slid into her, moving along the slit of her sex and up into the velvet walls of her vagina.

  When he turned her around, pushing her against the cold marble walls so that her breasts were pressed against the hard surface, causing her to moan at the pleasant shock of that sensation, she lifted herself up as high as she could on her toes, raising her posterior and arching her back slightly so that her ass was pushed into the air. He manoeuvred behind her, taking his erection in one hand and guiding it to her vulva, bending his knees so that he would be able to take what he wanted.

  Their fucking had made her limber, supple, if also a little sore, but he was gentle as he stretched her and she cried out, whimpering slightly as he slid inch after inch inside her. She grasped the edge of the shower with one hand, steadying herself, and he held himself still for a few moments, letting her get used to him inside her. Then, taking her wet hair in his fist, he made her back arch more, her blindly ecstatic face looking upwards as he moved in and out of her.

  When she was trembling with an orgasm, thought she would fall, he pulled out of her, frustrating her for a moment so that greedily, hungrily, she turned to grab hold of him, her nails raking across the slithering wet surface of his flesh. He for his part took her small limbs easily, placed them about his shoulders and shifted his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her up and then letting her slide down his shaft so that her eyes opened with wild desire as she raised herself and fell once more upon him, her orgasm flooding over her. With the hot water of the shower pouring over them, he stood there, impassive and majestic, her small body moving up and down upon him until, at last, she simply gripped his neck, her legs around his waist, shuddering and trembling with pleasure as he ejaculated inside her.

  “I think that was the nicest way I’ve ever greeted the day,” she said later as she sat in his kitchen, a dressing gown partly covering her drying body, her hair hanging in beautiful curling fronds down to her shoulders. Daniel smiled and flashed her a devilish look. He was standing at the central island, preparing breakfast for her, dressed in a pair of loose fitting trousers, his torso turning her on with each passing moment. She wondered if the item of clothing was meant to douse her passion, but instead having that massive thing so close yet hidden by such flimsy fabric was making her ever hotter.

  “I could always skip work today,” she told him, raising one eyebrow.

  “But I, unfortunately, could not,” was his reply, which somewhat deflated her. “Felix may be CEO now, but the company does demand a little of my attention from
time to time.”

  Sulking, she said: “I thought I was going to be your mad love, your amour fou?” she said. “Is there nothing I can do to tempt you?”

  “I would think that a little restraint would make the heart grow fonder.”

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “You were a little restrained, but not in the way I was expecting.” As she spoke, her eyes glanced across the open plan apartment to near the window where his trousers and shirt lay beside her dress and their shoes.

  He frowned. “I wasn’t a disappointment, was I?”

  She sniggered. “I don’t think you’re the kind of man who has to worry about performance issues. No, I was thinking of something much more... inventive.” So saying, she slipped off the high stool and walked out to the living area, letting the gown fall open so that her breasts, taut and firm, bounced a little before her, the tender curve of her belly forming a pleasant curve.

  Bending down, she retrieved the belt while letting the gown fall to the floor, then bent over a chair, exposing the smooth flow of her buttocks as she parted her legs slightly.

  “I just thought sir would like to put a very naughty girl in her place.”

  By the time she had returned home and taken off her dress it was far too late to even pretend that she would be at work in time. Her buttocks hurt, and she was sure that she would have bruises by the end of the day, but her grin as she walked (somewhat tentatively) home was impossible to hide, and indeed had drawn the attention of a number of men on the Tube. She had simply responded silently but flirtatiously, smiling with an expression that told them they could look but not touch.

  When she phoned up work, Janice answered.

  “Oh dear,” the receptionist said. “Sorry to hear that you’re well. Mark was furious when you didn’t turn up this morning.”

  Kris groaned at this. “I’m really sorry. Stomach bug. I was too sick to move this morning, but I will be in tomorrow.”

  As she hung up, her phone beeped and she looked down. A message from Daniel. Smiling, she opened it.

  “I hope your chastisement doesn’t hurt too much. Shame I didn’t get a memento to keep. D.”

  Smirking, she sat back on the sofa and looked at the screen of her phone for a while. She had not bothered to get dressed just yet, and a coquettish look crossed her face. Turning around and stretching her arm out behind her, she clicked a button and took a photograph of herself.

  Looking at the image on her screen, she was amused, pleased and slightly shocked. Daniel had not held back much on her, and thick red marks, blacking in some places, crossed her abused buttocks. She knew what he wanted, however, and she immediately sent the image to him. She was more than gratified when, a few seconds later, a new message appeared.

  “You know what I want.”

  She was less gratified the next day when she went into work. Sitting down somewhat gingerly on her chair, she switched on her computer and waited for it to boot up. This time her phone was kept firmly in her pocket—she didn’t want anyone to see the messages she had been sending and receiving like some over-sexed teenager. It was precisely one of those little messages, a short video clip of herself that she had hoped would provoke a similar response from Daniel, that she was thinking of when Mark came across to her desk. Looking up, she blushed guiltily.

  “Hope you’re feeling better,” he said, testily. “Work fell behind on the Chiado account while you were goofing off.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied, expressing false shame while secretly not giving a damn about Mark’s feelings or opinions. “I was sick. I’ll catch up, honest.” She couldn’t believe that the account was that far behind. No doubt he was just looking for any opportunity to be mean to her.

  “Come into my office, please,” he said, coldly.

  Following him but not really caring, she closed the door behind her. Mark had gone to stand on the other side of the desk and was looking out of the window across Farringdon.

  “I recognise that look. I saw it plenty of enough times. Is he good? Did he enjoy fucking his slut?”

  “What the...” Kris was genuinely surprised. This had been the last thing she had been expecting. She felt her skin prickling, as it so often had before, but this time there was something different, a protective armour that would encase her for a fight, not to fall back as a victim. Crossing her arms, she thought to herself: You don’t recognise that look, you little prick. I never looked like that for you.

  Mark half turned to her, his eyes sly and gutless. “We can’t afford fuck ups, not with you fucking around. I’m taking you off Chiado. Don’t know why I even bother to employ you anymore.” He looked back down over the street.

  “You can’t do this.” Kris’s voice was steel-like and hard. “For God’s sake, Mark. For the first time since I came to work at this bloody place, a job comes in that was made for me. I can even speak the language, which is more than can be said for anyone else.”

  He refused to turn around, though she had the satisfaction of seeing his shoulders tense. He was used to her doing whatever he told her to, but those days were long gone.

  “I’ve decided. There’s nothing else to say. I’m the boss, now get out.”

  She stood there for a few seconds, wondering whether to launch into a blazing row with him, whether to tell him all about Daniel—about how he tied her up and whipped her buttocks before fucking her in the ass, the size of his huge cock stretching her. Her mouth opened slightly at one point then closed, more because she realised that there was a good chance she would offend Daniel.

  She did, however, make sure that she slammed the door behind her as she left his office, making Janice and a couple of other members of HBS jump. Fuck ‘em, she growled to herself. So what if they began to prowl around juicy snippets of gossip behind her back. They were nothing—and Mark Travis was less than nothing to her now.

  Sitting down at her desk again, she reached into her coat and pulled out her phone. There was a message from Daniel, a good-natured continuation of their flirtation by text that had begun the day before. She smiled, but replied that her mood had been soured by her asshole boss. Within minutes, she received another message, asking her for details. With a sigh, she wondered whether to tell him to forget about it, but then decided, with more than a little spite, to tell him that she had been taken off the only job she had been interested in for years, one that involved one of his subsidiary companies.

  “Wait,” was the one word response. She frowned at this, but no further explanation was forthcoming.

  Half an hour later, Mark emerged from his office. He looked around the floor in a slight daze and, when he caught Kris’s eye he visibly flinched. She was surprised at this and, when he beckoned her, not calling out, she wondered whether to ignore him. Then she thought of Daniel’s cryptic text message. Standing, she straightened her skirt and walked primly to his office.

  He did not assume his usual pseudo-masterful position in the room, but instead stood holding the door open and closed it when she had entered, beckoning for her to take a seat and waiting till she was comfortable before sitting down himself.

  She was silent, refusing to make any comment until she knew what was going on. “Ah,” he said at last. “I’m sorry about my little outburst earlier. What you... what you do in your own time is entirely your own business. I was just worried about getting on with an important account, that’s all.”

  Sure, asshole, she thought. You just can’t stand the thought of any other man fucking me. Still she said nothing.

  “Anyway, it was a little misunderstanding. As you say, you’re the best person for the Chiado job. I wouldn’t dream of taking you off it. Just under, ah, a little stress here.” At this, his eyes flickered nervously towards his computer on the desk.

  “Really?” she asked, delighted. “That’s great. I’ll get onto it right away.” She paused for a moment, deciding whether she should demand an apology for the vitriol of his outburst, but decided that it probably wasn’t worth it.
Her anger had died down and she did not really fancy another outburst.

  Nonetheless, as she stood to go, it did occur to her to ask: “Why did you change your mind?”

  “Oh,” he replied. “I just spoke in anger. I didn’t mean any of it. Came to my senses, that’s all.”

  Kris shrugged. This was going to be the most she would get out of him today, and for the time being that was enough. Before she could leave, however, he called out to her.

  “Who is... who is it exactly that you’re seeing at the moment?” he asked. She was sure that she could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

  “Just some guy I met.” She smiled at him and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How’s your art going?”

  Kris looked up to where Daniel was standing in the kitchen, preparing a simple supper for the two of them. Over the previous few days, she had been spending more and more time at his apartment in Chelsea and had only returned home once. “Home”. That word was strange to her. Her flat, she increasingly realised, had for some time now just been the place where she lived, and it was hardly surprising that she spent as little time there as possible compared to the luxury available here. Nonetheless, the fact that “home” was still somewhere other than the gleaming penthouse was itself significant. She had the suspicion that this residence was as little a home for Daniel than her own flat was for her. She had even become slightly nostalgic for Comrie, and could understand why, from time to time, her lover withdrew there, far from the madding crowd and all that.

  In reply to his question, she grimaced. “It’s not, really.”

  He glanced up at her, pausing in his preparations. She always thought this was a rather peculiar foible of Daniel Stone’s—one of many. He had a cook, as well as other professionally provided services, but he also liked to make some meals himself. She sometimes wondered why, but as her own cooking was a triumph of necessity over desire, she was also somewhat grateful.